


and morning comes

by fragrant



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime)
Genre: Confessions, M/M, Pining, Soft!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-28 04:38:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18749173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragrant/pseuds/fragrant
Summary: Moomin didn’t think his moon-eyed, lovelorn crush on Snufkin could get any bigger—Snufkin was impossibly wonderful, and intelligent, and kind, and—well, he wasSnufkin.And yet. Snufkin comes to Moominvalley one spring with his hair grownlong, braided down the nape of his neck, and Moomin blushes red enough that Little My pokes him while his mother’s mouth twitches with amusement, and—Well, maybe Moomin’s in deep enough that it’s a bit of a problem.





	and morning comes

 

 

During the winter he’d slept heavily, cozily. His blankets were warm, and in his few waking moments the window’s shadows of snowfall that danced across his room were peaceful enough to drift him back to slumber. 

 

The morning the cuckoo began to call—and the birds began to chirp, and the air was fresh and clean, and the snow was melting—he soaked in the feeling of excitement, toes wiggling with it from the moment he woke. It was early in the morning still, and not long since he’d woken, when he heard the familiar melodies of a harmonica crooning. 

 

Moomin’s heart was in his throat as he climbed down from his room and ran down the grassdewed slope. 

 

There he was. _There Snufkin was_ , springjoy incarnate, his very best friend treasured by his heart like nothing else could be. 

 

Snufkin heaved off his pack and let his harmonica drop on top of his bags, and began to run towards Moomin in return.

 

They met each other, and Moomin could not deny the slight tears in his eyes and the way his heart seemed to soar. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. They laughed, Snufkin’s eyes crinkled soft and fond and his smile splitting his face, and they grasped hands and spun in circles before dropping to a tight, tight hug.

 

“Oh, Moomin,” Snufkin said, lodging his chin on top of Moomin’s head as they hugged. “Oh, Moomin,” he said again. He was smiling so warmly. 

 

Moomin’s eyes stung in the best way possible. “You came,” he said. 

 

“After all this time, you still doubted that? Moomin, I’d race all over the world if I had to, to get back in time. Here is—“ Snufkin hesitated, in a way that he rarely did, “—Moominvalley is, is, precious. Part of me belongs here and will forever.” 

 

“Snufkin,” Moomin said. He could not seem to let go of Snufkin even now. “I’m really, really happy.”

 

The first few years of their friendship, they had played at a relaxed sort of rhythm: Snufkin would sit on the bridge and play his harmonica to let Moomin know he’d arrived back at Moominvalley, and Moomin would run to him and wait till he finished his song. Then they’d barely embrace, but only grin boyishly at each other and immediately go on adventures. That’s how it was at the beginning—an ease of a sunny friendship. 

 

But now things were different. Where there used to be play-mate liking of each other had now grown deep devotion and tenderness; they hugged tighter than they ever had. Moomin knew, really he did, that Snufkin would never leave him forever—and he knew not to cling to him, but only treasure their time together like diamonds. 

 

He felt giddy and a little overwhelmed with emotion. Perhaps he always would, a little bit, when it came to this green, moon-touched wandering creature in his hands. 

 

As Moomin drew back and looked more carefully at Snufkin, he took in—something new. Snufkin’s hair, usually cropped at his neck, had grown to long past his shoulders, and was braided neatly. Moomin gaped a little, and to his dismay knew he was blushing. 

 

Snufkin looked—good. To say the least. He always did—so Moomin had no reason to go so red, now. But he did, anyway. 

 

“Your hair,” blurted Moomin. “You grew it!”

 

Snufkin laughed. It sounded like a warm song. “Trying something new. What do you think?”

 

“It’s very nice,” said Moomin, reddening further. If Snufkin noticed, he said nothing. He only pulled on his pack again, a pleased, content look to him. 

 

He took Moomin’s paw in his own. His glove felt soft as butter. 

 

“Shall we have some breakfast?” asked Snufkin cheerfully. “I have stories to tell you, and you must tell me about your interesting dreams as you slept. Perhaps after we eat I can see the others.”

 

Moomin looked at him as he spoke and thought, _I really am head over heels in love with you. I don’t doubt that now, if I ever did._

 

_But what can I do about it?_

 

* * *

 

Of course there was a big fuss about Snufkin’s return; everyone knew the golden boy of the valley with his measured voice and canny kindness. Moominmamma hugged him and complimented his new hair with none of Moomin’s shyness, Moominpappa declared Snufkin must come fishing with him at once, Little My stamped her foot and gleefully vaulted onto Snufkin’s shoulder before checking if she still fit in his hat. Snorkmaiden and Snork dropped in and exclaimed that Snufkin must tell them about what he'd been up to, and Sniff proudly showed Snufkin his new sea-glass windchimes. 

 

In all the chaos, Moomin found it hard to take his eyes off Snufkin the whole time. 

 

And Little My noticed. 

 

“So,” she said, poking him as she joined him at the table where he sat watching everyone. “You’re even more obvious this time. About Snufkin. Have you been blushing a lot today? Is it because of his hair?”

 

Moomin hissed, “I’ll get you new ice skates next winter if you stop talking, I swear it. _Please_ stop talking.”

 

Little My only laughed. “Relax, he didn’t hear me. Besides, he’d be dumb if he hasn’t already figured it out. _Everyone_ has. Even Snorkmaiden accepted it after a while.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Moomin said. 

 

She levelled him an unimpressed look, and hopped back to the noisy centre of the room. 

 

* * *

 

The days that passed were beautiful, and seemed to glow goldener than the sun. There was fishing, and walks in the Lonely Mountains, and excursions and fun and games with everyone, but more often than not there were many hours Moomin passed sitting contentedly with Snufkin somewhere in the forest, or talking with him over raspberry juice, or poring through the books in Moominpappa’s library with him. They talked about everything, anything, whimsies and bits of comfortable nothings, and their silence felt like a language, too. 

 

Moomin didn’t know how to feel about his newfound realisation. All things considered, it had changed very little. Perhaps it was that alone—how normal being consciously in love with Snufkin was—that troubled him. If a realisation that huge had changed things about and knocked things over, it would have made _sense_. But this lack of any difference meant it could go on like this for all his days, the rest of his life, without Snufkin needing to know or finding out anyway. 

 

Did Moomin even _want_ him to know? Would he lose a friend if he did? He imagined the confession a hundred times, but could never imagine how Snufkin would react. 

 

Perhaps, Moomin worried and gnawed over like an old bone, Snufkin would not like it at all. He was a wanderer; he liked being alone, didn’t he? Would he be made uncomfortable by being tied down to something so heavy?

 

Moomin’s time alone was spent in such confusion, going in circles. And yet... though one would think such a disturbance of the heart would be at its height around its cause, it was really the opposite. Around Snufkin was the only time Moomin’s worries dissipated and he felt peaceful. Around Snufkin, it was more like his whole being went into the way of treasuring whatever precious time it could get with Snufkin, worrying less over himself. 

 

One morning as they walked through a meadow of lavenders and blue flowers, Snufkin stopped, and turned towards Moomin. 

 

Moomin took in Snufkin’s hesitance, and the way he seemed a bit lost, and thought: _Oh no. He’s sensed it. It’s all going to end now. I wanted more time._

 

“Moomin,” Snufkin finally said. “You know that you can say anything to me, right? Anything.”

 

“Me too,” Moomin said weakly, without thinking about it, trying more to calm down his heartbeat. “It goes the same for me hearing anything you want to say, Snufkin—”

 

“Fine then,” said Snufkin. Moomin winced at the finality of his voice. “I think I’ll say it.”

 

Moomin closed his eyes. Snufkin wanted to go back to the old way they had been friends, or worse— _don’t think about it or you’ll break down_ —maybe to stop being friends at all—

 

“I love you, Moomin,” Snufkin said in a clear voice. When Moomin dared to look at him, his expression was nervous—but his eyes were steady. “You are my dearest, dearest person. And I’m—I’m so very sorry for any pain I’ve caused you in leaving each year. It’s funny. This time, when I left, I thought of you every day. Every hour, really. I wanted to come back to you—thinking about it felt better than anything. I was half mad with impatience. I grew out my hair, I moved my tent almost every day—oh, Moomin,” Snufkin’s voice broke a little, and Moomin gasped with an emotion he could not understand at it, “I just want to be around you and have time with you and come back to you like the sun rises as long as I live.”

 

“Snufkin,” Moomin managed.

 

Snufkin wasn’t done, though. “And,” he continued, looking down as though steeling himself, “I know this may not be welcome to you—you have—others you care about and love, and I know—I’ll understand it if—“

 

“ _Snufkin_ ,” Moomin said louder, more insistently. 

 

Snufkin looked up. He looked stricken. They held gazes for a second, before Moomin clutched the front of Snufkin’s coat with both hands and cried, “ _Listen_.”

 

Snufkin laughed weakly and in disbelief. “I’m listening.” 

 

Moomin barrelled on. “How could you even think you—saying you love me, saying everything you said—would be unwelcome? That I’d hate it? Are you _crazy_? I’m over the moon! I love you! I love you so! I haven’t known what to do about it, or what you’d say—“

 

At this Snufkin seemed overcome and leant forward, quicker than Moomin could catch, and kissed Moomin’s snout. Moomin lost all words. 

 

When Snufkin drew back, both of them were a little short of breath.

 

Moomin was still holding onto Snufkin. He didn’t dare let go. 

 

Moomin stuttered, “I—that was—you—“

 

Snufkin laughed, and lifted a tilted hand to Moomin’s face. “Yes.”

 

Moomin breathed in and out. He leant forward, slowly—Snufkin watched him with a soft, fond smile playing at his lips—and Moomin kissed him. This time it was less rushed, and Moomin felt warm. Happier than he’d ever been. 

 

When they broke off, Snufkin said, “We’ve got all the time in the world, now.” He was smiling helplessly. 

 

Moomin said, with feeling, “That’s not enough time,” and Snufkin laughed and kissed him again. 

 

* * *

 

And so they lived their lives from then together—even when apart, they were together, you understand? There are few things in this world more precious, dear reader, than what they had between them. And if there was anything Moomin and Snufkin knew about, it was the handling of precious things with care. 

 

They had a house with strays and bits and bobs, one could tell you. The whole valley danced on their wedding day, one could also tell you. But that they had happiness in the years that came, well, those things are a given, eternal.

 

It came down to this: two paws held, two gazes locked, words uttered with all of a heart and never regretted or taken back.

 

It was something surer than the sun and moon and wind and stars, and it was theirs.

 

* * *

 

The day Snufkin and Moomin began holding hands as they walked around the valley, Little My crowed, “About time, I could say.” She was shushed, but no one else was really surprised, either.

 

And that winter, Snufkin left and came back, and left and came back, never staying or leaving for more than a few weeks, before he settled in to wait towards the end of winter, content with Moomin’s sleepy occasional words. He woke Moomin up from hibernating on the first day of spring—it was a new kind of ritual.

 

One predawn, early summer morning, Snufkin sleepily told Moomin, _Do you remember that day we first met? When you were looking for the observatory, because the comet was coming?_

 

_I’d never forget._

 

_Oh, it was a special day, that day. Something about it felt very important, even then. I remembered it now—before we fell asleep as we camped together in the tent, you and me and the others, you whispered something, like you were too sleepy to remember it later._

 

_What did I whisper, Snufkin?_

 

_That even if I liked being alone, I didn’t have to be lonely anymore. And back then I scoffed at that, didn’t I! But you were right. There’s a difference between being lonely and alone, and I only realised it from when I knew you._

 

Moomin kissed him. _Hush. Go back to sleep._

 

And after Snufkin fell back to sleep, Moomin, after laying a blanket over him, fell asleep too, content, a hand in Snufkin’s.

 

What Snufkin had said stuck with him. Loneliness and aloneness. Both the same on the outside, yet different. A hurt with no end in sight, versus enjoying the world while awaiting company; awaiting the sun rising. Moomin hadn’t guessed Snufkin had ever felt the first, when he’d loved the second one so much.

 

_I’m going to marry him,_ he told Little My a while later, just to laugh at her tripping in shock.

 

And so he did.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ah, i hope you liked this. thank you so, so much for reading! and comments are really appreciated!


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